


the decadence of your starvation, the consequence of your elation

by Caracalliope



Series: Wartime/Post-war moments (with porn!) [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - War, Blood Kink, Breasts, Emotional Porn, Epistolary, F/F, Kneeling, Masochism, Not Canon Compliant - The Homestuck Epilogues, Post-Canon, Submission, Wartime Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26412652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/pseuds/Caracalliope
Summary: Rose and Kanaya are fighting to free Earth C, and they're forced to spend months apart - but Rose finds ways to give her wife what she needs.
Relationships: Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Series: Wartime/Post-war moments (with porn!) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919788
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Motivational Speech

Revoltlog excerpt, 17 months before the Treaty.  
  
TT: Now, anatomically speaking and with no romantic sentiment allowed, what do you miss the most about me?  
  
GA: Obviously Your Mouth  
  
TT: A classic choice, tame at first glance, but the orifice has potential. What do you like the most about it?  
  
GA: The Way You Will Use It In Our Bed Block After The War  
GA: To Keep Up Both Halves Of The Erotic Dialogue Between Us  
GA: Rather Than Prodding Me To Participate Like A Floundering Jellyfish  
  
TT: Are you not in the mood anymore?  
  
GA: The Problem Is Exactly The Opposite Of Being Not In The Mood  
  
TT: Ah. I miss seeing you get bright-cheeked and tongue-tied with arousal.  
TT: I can pick up the slack if you wish? My tongue and typing fingers are yours to command.  
  
GA: Exactly Youre The Writer In This Relationship  
GA: So What Do I Miss The Most About You  
  
TT: The red blood cells, oxygenated and nutritious, that are constantly flowing through my breasts.  
  
GA: Ah  
GA: Yes The Breasts  
GA: The Ones That Carry No Uncomfortably Maternal Connotations When I Feed From Them  
  
TT: Exactly those breasts. We both understand there is nothing Freudian or even erotic about the way you choose to sate your hunger.  
TT: Just as we know that you take no pleasure in building up the pain I take for you. When you rub, pinch and slap my breasts before you bite down, all you are doing is arranging your meal to your taste. It has nothing to do with the way you can shatter my stoicism or my disaffected benevolence.  
TT: Once you have me discomfited and aroused enough to beg - not for more pain, but to suck on your fingers or ride your bulge - that is when you bite down on the soft tissue, and the anticipation makes the blood run sweeter.  
TT: Or so I am told.  
  
GA: Yes  
GA: Yes But  
GA: This Is Not Your Favorite Way To Do It  
  
TT: That’s true.  
TT: I like it violent and sudden, and you do not. But every lasting marriage is built on compromise.  
TT: Doing it my way feels crude to you, at least until the blood starts flowing.  
TT: You’re awkward when you hunt me down in the kitchen, the bathroom, the garden. You might comment on my tendency to strategically forget to put on a bra, but while the intent is to humiliate, the words may shake on your lips. Attempted disdain, ruined.  
TT: But then you’ll roll my sweater up.  
TT: Or you’ll unbutton my blouse to the navel. In a private, unguarded moment (more private than we can imagine as the war crawls on), I admitted to you that this makes me feel more exposed than full nudity, and you’ve scrupulously been using that against me ever since.  
TT: You’ll handle me roughly, make your strength felt the way you rarely do. Your precision and deliberation will be cloaked in that wildness I can’t resist. You’ll leave claw marks on my breasts.  
  
GA: I Have Forgotten Everything In This World Except Slurry Logistics And Evacuation Drills  
GA: What Do Those Marks Look Like  
  
TT: Small. Alien. My nails leave crescent moons that last a few hours. Your nails leave stars that last for days.  
TT: I would try to recreate the effect with my knitting needles but I think Captor would double-die of rage again if I tried sending an image through the encrypted channel.  
TT: Please use your imagination for the time being.  
  
GA: Very Well  
GA: But The Blood  
  
TT: The blood will rise when you sink your fangs into my areola. You won’t lap it up with your usual delicacy. Instead, you will suck and swallow until you are filled. I imagine that it will taste warm and exotic after months of living on troll blood - maybe a little bestial, I can’t be sure. Then you will run your tongue over and over my nipple until I’m pulling on your hair, begging you to bite harder and deeper, and simultaneously, begging you to keep sucking until I am dry and done.  
TT: Yes?  
  
GA: Yes  
GA: And We May Expect A Reemergence Of Eloquence On My Side Of Things  
GA: In The Near Future  
  
TT: I am happy to hear that. Now, let me tell you what I miss the most about you.  
  



	2. Motivational Touch

Transmission, 13 months before the Treaty.  
  
You turn on the webcam and consider the scene. The love of your life cuts an intimidating figure when she is silhouetted by blazing sunlight, but you have a warmer staging concept planned for this speech. You close the curtains behind her, a cue for her to switch her glow on. In the caves, she is a beacon of perseverance rather than of hope, and she’s also Quite Handy Now That Crocker Remote Detonated The Generators. That was a big loss for your movement - seventeen jades dead, most of your supplies gone - but Kanaya’s been able to bring things around by sheer force of will and bioluminescense. She and Karkat have a delicate balance between them, distributing the weight of their people’s future equally, giving each other the occasional chance to shrug by shouldering more than their usual load. Their duumvirate is propped up by Meenah on one side and you on the other. But this way of serving the cause is only your own.

Keeping carefully out of the camera’s range, you lower yourself to the ground, wait until Kanaya sits down in front of her desk, and then you crawl over to her. Your wife can’t prevent violence, loss, helplessness, but she can put some of it into perspective. She sounds a little awkward and stilted and perfectly herself, and you see how that gets trolls and humans and carapacians to follow her into battle. You’re a god, still, and you follow her too. But right now, your position is that of an emotional support meowbeast, so you nuzzle her knee as she speaks, and you let her pet your hair. Even after a decade together, she sometimes forgets that you don’t have horns, and her fingers explore your scalp with brisk efficiency. You listen to her finish the speech she’d practiced - it’s not perfect, but there is no time for perfection these days - and you press your cheek against her knee. One of her skirt buttons will leave a mark on your cheek, you think, and Kanaya will kiss it until the pinkness fades. First, she has to shed her public mask and return to you, and you will wait as long as it takes.


End file.
